


Third degree burns

by Tashilover



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a gift. But most people saw it as a curse.</p><p>Based off a prompt in the Cabin Pressure kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The very first time Martin fire bends, his mother slapped him.

 

His hands had felt warm all morning. It wasn’t like the time he had poison oak or when he tried to catch a wasp. This warmth felt wonderful, welcoming. And when he brought his hands near each other, it felt like he was holding the sun in his palms.

 

He didn’t know what to expect, when he tried to focus all of his attention into his cupped hands. The heat suddenly spiked, Martin gave a short gasp and a little orange flame bloomed in his palm. It was a little flickering light, as big as a lit match, hovering a mere inch above his flesh.

 

Martin grinned happily. “Mum!” He said, holding out his hand to her. “Look!”

 

He cried out in alarm when his mother suddenly slapped his hand, extinguishing the flame immediately. He stared up at her, confused why she had done such a thing when she slapped him across the face, hard enough to send him crashing to the floor.

 

The next couple of hours involved a lot of screaming, crying. Eventually it was Martin’s father who had to sit the boy down to explain to him why he should never ever try to fire bend again. “I had hoped the genes of our ancestors would have been extinguished by now,” he said sadly, unwinding the bindings around Martin’s hands. His mother bounded his hands into tight fists to keep him from trying again. Martin’s father gently kissed his palms where his fingernails had cut into his skin. “We are still paying for the sins of our great-grandparents, Martin. It’ll be many more generations still, before we are forgiven. Until then, you must keep your gift to yourself, otherwise you’ll bring much misfortune upon you and this family.”

 

Martin didn’t understand. He nodded anyways.

 

As he grew, he eventually learned of the Great War. He learned how fire benders wiped out a whole generation of benders, destroyed whole cities and nearly sent the air benders into extinction. While all this happened even before his parent’s time, hatred and fear still ran rampant.

 

Martin did what he was told and kept his bending to himself. For a time.

 

As much as he wanted to ignore the tingle in his hands, the warmth in his arms and legs, it eventually came out in little ways. During his tenth birthday as his family presented the cake to him, Martin sneezed. The candles on his cake erupted into high flames, shooting upwards, singing hair and clothe. He was sent to bed immediately, without a chance to taste his cake or open his presents.

 

When he was thirteen, the heater had broken, turning the house into an igloo. The only person who hadn’t needed an extra layer of clothing was Martin. His mother forced him into an extra jacket and scarf to fool the electrician and spying neighbors. The poor boy eventually overheated and fainted in his room.

 

The fights that ensued after were ear shattering.

 

“He needs to be taught!” His father would scream. “If he can’t learn to control it, it’ll control him!”

 

“Stop trying to treat this like it’s a gift!” His mother would yell back. “You know what’ll happen if people find out! They’ll run us out of town! Hell, someone might even try to kill him!”

 

“Which is why he should be taught! He’ll be able to protect himself!”

 

“Oh yeah? Who’s going to teach him? Huh? Where are we going to get the money for this? Simon needs braces and we just fixed the car!”

 

Martin knew his mother loved him. She just hated his bending. But eventually she couldn’t deny without proper instruction, Martin was liable to burn down a house in an accidental rage.

 

There used to be a huge jar of money in his parent’s room labeled “Hawaii or Bust!” It was a trip the whole family was looking forward to in probably another year or so. Then one day the whole jar disappeared and Martin suddenly had a fire bending teacher.

 

It caused a resentment from his siblings that never truly went away.

 

Two months of training. That was all they could afford. It was enough though, to stamp down the unexpected bursts of fire. Enough for Martin to learn how to call the flame, to control it. He’ll never know how powerful he could have been.

 

By the time he turned fifteen, there were no more ‘accidents’. No more scorched marks in his clothes or his hair smelling of smoke. Every time Martin felt the familiar warmth itch across his skin, he breathed in and out, releasing a short burst of steam and extinguishing his inner fire.

 

“Bending is a gift,” his teacher had said to him on their final lesson. “I know society hates you for it, but the gods gave you this for a reason. It’s okay to be afraid, but don’t be ashamed.”

 

Martin looked down at his palm, where a small flame burned beautifully. It was warm. So, so warm. “I’ll try not to be,” he whispered, curling his hand into a tight fist, extinguishing the flame with a small hiss.


	2. Chapter 2

 Though the government pronounced equal rights among benders and non-benders, the stigma against fire users still held strongly. Through the grapevine, Martin kept hearing of fire benders who lost their jobs, homes, even their lives because of what they were born with.

So Martin lied on every single government form he'd ever written on. His driver's license, his pilot's license, his insurance, everything. A part of him was ashamed, knowing full well he should stand up and speak out against this injustice. Why should he keep paying for the sins of his great-great-grandparents?

Of course, the mere presence of Douglas Richardson made an excellent case why fire benders were still shouldering the guilt.

The very first time Douglas air bends in front of Martin, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. "Surprised?" Douglas said lightly as he cooled his overheated tea with the tiniest of tornados.

Martin flushed. "I thought air benders could only be found in America!"

"Not all of us immigrated to the New World during the Great War," Douglas murmured, taking a sip of his tea. "There are pockets of families scattered over Europe. Though most of them keep to themselves, afraid someone might try to finish the job the fire benders started."

Now that was a kick to the groin. Martin had no idea how Douglas would react if he knew Martin's ancestors tried to kill them all.

Of course Martin had no intentions of telling anyone of his abilities. However, it still felt like a dirty little secret every time Douglas sat down next to him in the plane.

It also didn't help Douglas was an  _excellent_ air bender. How he was able to find a teacher when so many benders had left to cross the sea, Martin will never know. Douglas was too old to do full body bending anymore, yet with a simple sweep of his arm he could clear the runway of birds or simply dry himself off when he came in from the rain.

Martin will admit he was jealous. He doesn't think he'll ever get the right to freely bend like that. Not even in his own home, not to warm his tea or his room during the winter. The last time Martin had a chance to bend was when one of the students left a smoking cigarette and he quickly extinguished the flame before it caught the carpet.

"Sooo… what do you think of fire benders?"

Martin was dying to ask this question for months. He had no intention of revealing himself to Douglas even if his answer was, "I love them!" But Martin knew what type of luck he had. He has been run out of towns before because someone saw him bend. (One time in Spain, he lit a candle for a local church and the Vicar chased him out with a broom.)

Douglas sighed exacerbated and Martin felt his stomach drop.

"Do you know how often I get that question?" Douglas said tiredly. " _All the time._ I'm so sick of it. I have no problems with fire benders."

Martin was stunned. "R-really?"

"Of course. The War was years ago, times have changed. Why would I blame the current generation for the sins of their ancestors? Hell, my  _daughter_ is a fire bender."

" _Really?"_

"Of course," Douglas said rather smugly. "Her mother is a fire bender too. And let me tell you, those fire benders… very passionate, if you get my drift."

"Douglas!" Martin blushed.

The older man chuckled. "The point is, I can't hate my daughter for being a fire bender anymore than I can the current Avatar for being born a natural fire bender. It's just silly."

Sudden heat spiked inside Martin and he had to fight, hard, to keep it contained. His family had never condemned him for his gift, but they never treated him kindly for it, either. While there were a few people who openly said they accepted fire benders, it was never enough. The fear of rejection kept Martin from ever speaking out.

However, if Douglas said he didn't mind, then he didn't mind. It was the gospel truth. Martin believed him without a doubt.

But the young man spent over twenty years keeping his bending to himself. That was not a secret he was going to give up willingly, not even to a man he considered a close, personal friend. It was nice, though, to know Douglas had his back. If ever something ever happens.

And something always happens.

Martin never minded England's natural cold atmosphere. His inner fire always kept him warm, even on the coldest days. He had never the need to invest in scarves or gloves or thick, wooly jackets. When he did wear them, as an illusion to fool outsiders, they were cheap and put on carelessly.

Then Martin went to Alaska.

"This is crazy!" Douglas shivered. He sat in the back of a taxi as it took him and Martin to their hotel. "Who the hell thinks living like this is enjoyable?"

"Ha ha ha!" The cab driver laughed at him. "You French people need to learn how to handle your cold!"

"I'm English!" Douglas yelled back. He stared wildly at Martin. "And you! How are you not cold?"

Martin didn't think far ahead enough to pack himself a thicker coat or better gloves. How odd he must look wearing something intended for Spring, while outside snow felt heavily past the windows. "Oh, um… I'm not that sensitive to cold."

Douglas gaped at him. " _He's_ not sensitive to cold," he said, jerking his thumb to the cabbie who was wearing a cap, gloves, and a thick jacket. "And he's dressed to the brim!"

"Yes, well, I guess I just have thicker skin."

"Oh, bull. You're hiding something. What is it, Martin? Do you have warm water bags underneath that coat? Because last year, Arthur tried to do the same thing except he forgot to cap the bags and-"

The cab suddenly struck black ice, sending the vehicle into a sharp spin. The cabbie cried out, tried to control the car but it was a useless effort as it banged against the bridge rails, then broke through them.

Martin threw out his hands, prepared for impact.

They struck the surface of the water with such force Martin thought he was going to be torn in half by his seatbelt. The taxi bopped for a few seconds, then it began to sink. Immediately water poured in from all sides, wetting their feet, their ankles, their knees.

"Oh God!" Martin tugged at his seatbelt, swiftly unlocking himself. Water had already encased the whole cab from the outside, darkening the vehicle. Up front, the cabbie laid unconscious in his seat and that was all Martin saw before the lights of the dashboard went out.

The bitter cold water reached up to his chest.

"Martin," Douglas cried over the dull roar of water forcing its way in. "Get the cabbie!"

Though Martin knew revealing himself could mean expulsion from society, he wasn't about to let Douglas or the cabbie drown because he wanted to keep his reputation. He never hesitated.

Fire bloomed in his hand, hot and bright, illuminating the taxi with stark reds and oranges. He reached over, grasped Douglas' seatbelt and burnt the strap to a crisp in a matter of a second. Martin ignored Douglas' surprised gape and leaned forward, grabbing the cabbie's seatbelt. He burnt that into a crisp and with hurculean strength, pulled him into the back seats.

Water was already up to his neck. He felt Douglas wrap an arm around his torso. "Hang on to him!" he heard Duglas yell just as he water came up over his chin.

For a few long horrid seconds, Martin saw and heard nothing. In that moment he as truly afraid and he prayed to the spirits of Alaska to take mercy on them. From behind, there was suddenly a large dull noise, the water rushed immediately over Martin's head.

What happened next, Martin could barely describe. They shot out of the cab like a bullet, passing through the icy cold water at incredible speeds. They broke the surface a moment later, gasping desperatly for air.

There was a pause of disorientation as Douglas shifted around, searching for land. Once he spotted it, he threw out a hand and used his air bending to propel them across. People who saw the accident were coming down the snowy wet hill to help them, bringing blankets and towels.

Douglas, too tired to do anything else but accept the help, was dragged out of the water by two men. A young woman took the unconscious cabbie from Martin's arms, pulling him up on the shore.

Martin felt like he weighed over a thousand pounds, the way he climbed out of the river with his clothes soaking wet. His teeth clattered horribly and one man told him to strip, to get out of those wet clothes.

It was not a conscious decision to bend, his body called on its own inner fire to help. Steam erupted from his skin, warming his limbs and drying his clothes rapidly. He had not done this in years. It felt wonderful, almost liberating. It was almost too tempting to send out a fireball at that moment.

Years of self-control kept himself from falling into that temptation. With a breath, his inner fire quieted down. When he turned to face the Americans, they were all staring at him with a certain air of disdain.

Douglas wasn't looking at him at all.

 

 

The cab driver only suffered a mild concussion and he personally thanked Martin and Douglas for saving his life. "Eheheheh! You French people sure have guts!"

"Oui," said Douglas.

The ride to the hotel was horribly quiet. Douglas stared out the window while Martin sat uncomfortably in the seat next to him.

Now what?

Douglas had said he didn't care about who is or who isn't a fire bender. So why now the silent treatment? Did he not mean that? Was he frightened of Martin or offended? It felt like his heart was breaking. He may have just lost his only friend because of his stupid 'gift from the spirits.' He wanted to cry.

The moment they were in the hallway, going towards their rooms, Martin blurted out, "I'm sorry I lied to you."

Douglas turned to him, an eyebrow raised. "What?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I'm a fire bender. It's just..." Oh God, was he crying? "Everytime I told someone, I was always met with disgust and abuse. And I swear to you that I never bend, not even when I'm at home. But we were in trouble, Douglas! I had no choice. And I know my ancestors almost wiped yours off the earth, but you said we should stop paying for their sins and I thought you meant that-"

"I do mean that."

"Then why have you been ignoring me this whole time?"

"Martin!" Douglas chastised lightly. "I don't know if you noticed, but I nearly died of drowning and hypothermia today. I do not have the ability to warm myself like you.  _I'm tired._ I'm cold and I'm very, very hungry. I'm sorry if you thought I was ignoring you, but in reality, I'm just not in the talking mood."

Martin blinked. He felt his cheeks burn. "Oh."

"Look, tomorrow morning we can go out for breakfast and talk as much as you want. Right now, though?" Douglas nearly broke down his door in his haste to get in. "I just want to order room service, take a scalding hot shower, bury myself under five blankets and sleep for ten years. Can you give me that, Captain?"

Still stupidly stunned, Martin nodded.

"Good," Douglas said, slamming the door in his face.

 

 

True to his word, that next morning they went out for breakfast and talked. Martin shared some of the difficulties he's experienced for being a fire bender, the harrassment, the abuse, and what he had to do to hide himself from society.

Douglas listened. Without judgement.

After that, nothing really changed. Not even when Martin finally told Carolyn and Arthur what he was, all he got in response was, "That's brilliant, Skip!" and "You're telling me I've been drinking cold tea this whole time when you could've just warmed it up for me?"

The acceptance was more than he ever got from his siblings or his mum.

Sometimes late at night he could still hear his fire bending teacher, telling him he shouldn't be ashamed of his bending. It was a gift from the spirits, he once said so many years ago. They gave it to you for a reason.

Martin didn't think the reason was to warm he tea when the electric kettle was on the fritz, but he didn't care. He wasn't ashamed.

Not anymore.


End file.
